


Spies Like Us

by livrelibre



Category: Alias (TV), Doctor Who (2005), Mr. and Mrs. Smith (2005), Undercovers, White Collar
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livrelibre/pseuds/livrelibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few times Sam used sexpionage (or snark or snuggling)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam and Neal

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing to clear the decks of WIP snippets. Not so much sex in these as snark etc.

Sam had thoroughly cased the reception, identified her mark, and with a little wining and dining, managed to slip the security pass off of him with little trouble. Smooth sailing. That is, until she was smartly waylaid by the blue-eyed stranger in vintage Devore who bumped into her in a move she could almost believe was accidental if she hadn't been a professional.

"Oh, I'm so sorry how clumsy of me," he murmured apologetically, offering a pocket square for the small spill of champagne she now had down the side of her dress and brushing unobtrusively at her (and incidentally lifting the security badge she had tucked away at the top of her bag).

"Oh, no problem at all," she smiled back, patting him on the breast pocket and just as adroitly stealing the pass back.

His charmingly rueful grin only quirked up a bit at the side as he cocked his head at her. He didn't move like an agent but then any good agent wouldn't in this crowd and whatever he was, he was certainly good. 

"I'm sorry, I should get you another drink at least, to apologize for my clumsiness, Ms. . ." he trailed off.

"Fisher. Isla Fisher. And how good of you but I must dash now."

He subtly blocked her way. "Here on business?"

"A bit of business, a bit of pleasure. I am bidding on a few pieces." She let her eyes slide down his front just a bit and noted that he tracked her hands, not her gaze. Very good then.

"Yes, I noticed you in the hall. The Vermeer is very fine, isn't it.?"

So he had been casing her as well. "It is a lovely piece. So was the Modigliani." Two could play at that game. He nodded slightly.

"As perceptive as you are beautiful. I thought I might be competing with you on that one but it seems our interests are complementary rather than at odds."

"Perhaps," she said noncommittally.

"Well, whether you're here for business or pleasure, hopefully I can help on either count."

"I think I have it handled but thank you."

"I'm sure you do," he said, just low enough to be on the right side on innuendo if called on it.

"Well, hopefully I'll be seeing you around."

"I'm sure." She slipped away with a bit of extra slink in her step. If he was competition, she was at least going to give him a run for his money.

When she accessed the vault with the paintings containing the stolen code, she could barely even see the jimmying around the pad, so neatly had it been replaced. And the note on the painting made her smile despite herself. "Like so many things, it's beautiful but not quite what it seems. Until we meet again."


	2. Sam and Jane

It turned out that their point team for the Bolivian job was a couple who introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. What's more, Jane Smith was the woman who had seduced her with sake and an incredible side-slit dress in a bar in Hong Kong. They'd both been each others' mark but it had been one of the best sexpionage assignments Sam had ever had. Of course, Jane had put a knife through Sam's shoulder in a back alley and run off with the data at the end of it.

"Want me to kiss it better?" she said by way of apology after Sam got her to one side and explained about the "no past" pact. "And don't worry; I won't blow your cover for the hubby." 

"Jane" did that super-hot and annoying smirking thing Sam remembered. Damn but she did have a type besides Steven. "John and I don't talk about the past much anyway. At least you both knew each other were agents before you got married."

Sam sensed a story she didn't even want to get into.

Their names might have been transparently fake but the couple thing was no cover. Sam was getting serious deja vu over their comms chatter.

"Honey, I told you we were going to stick to the plan this time. You always do this."

"And I thought you said you were going to let the Bangkok job go."

"Well I would if you wouldn't keep doing it again."

Sam and Steve rolled their eyes at one another. But on the job they were all business and moved with a oneness that was breathtaking to see.

"Honey do you think we sound like that?"

"Absolutely not Mrs. Agent Bloom," Hoyt cut in "except on every other mission," he murmured, not so low that the comms didn't catch it.


	3. Sam and Martha

Motherfucking aliens. That was never in the cards. After all this time defending the country from terrorists and bad guys of all stripes, all it took was one megalomaniacal extraterrestrial to bring the whole world down. Sam could have laughed if she wouldn't have ended up crying. She'd lost Lizzy and Leo in the first wave and then Steven who'd taken a shot to save her from one of those murderous metal balls and now she was on her own, grimly heading up a small resistance group. 

Sometimes she wondered why she even survived, what the point of it all was, until the woman with the key came with her story. When they met and the woman gasped and stared at her for long moments, Sam was moved for the first time in awhile to a vague curiosity. The woman looked at her like a ghost come to life, like Sam was a hope unlooked for, and for the first time in awhile that made Sam feel seen, like she mattered and was more than a shell of bones and skin shambling through her days. The woman recovered herself shortly and the story she told fanned that little guttering of hope in Sam. It had been a long time since she felt like her belief in good could help save the world and fight back against terrible enemies, but this woman and the way that her gaze kept tracking back to Sam like she was something good and right in the world made her want to again. 

Sam came to her room in the base late that night, to thank her for her story, to watch her gaze flicker over Sam's face like fire, like sunlight, warm after so long. She didn't think before she reached out and drew the woman down into a kiss, pulled in like a moth to a flame. But Sam could feel there was more desperation than passion in the clutch of the woman's grasp and the small sob she let out against her lips, and eased back to thumb away the spill of tears from the woman's cheek. She found herself hugging her as she would Lizzy while the woman also spilled the story of her sister and her journey, and they curled up together for a night in each others' arms, both dreaming of the sisters they missed.


	4. Sam/Anna

Looking back on it now, Sam can't believe how naive she'd been to believe Anna at all. But she'd been young and in love and Anna certainly knew how to play the game. Better people than Sam had been taken in, and that was how sexpionage worked. Plus it had set her on her course in the end. 

Sam had been interning on the Hill, on her own in DC for the first time and getting a good look at how the sausage was made. She hadn't had illusions of being any kind of Mr. Smith but she wasn't as prepared for the ugly realities of politics as she'd liked to think. She'd been alone, overworked, and realizing that the slow and sordid churn of DC politics was maybe not how she could best make an impact. She hadn’t minded working away at something where no one knew or understood the importance of what she did, keeping secrets and getting her hands dirty. It was just that she wanted to know that it would help change the world in concrete ways now, not get whittled down in committee. Also, it was kind of fucking boring; she was a hands-on kind of girl, and there was little rush in Senator Harris' office. 

And then at a political protest she met Anna, or Maria as she'd called herself then, beautiful passionate radical Maria, who opened up a whole new world to Sam. They'd debated politics in cafes by day which bled into arguing over tactics in bars by evening which ended up in passionate lovemaking by night. Sam hadn't known she could feel what Anna made her feel. Sam learned how she could be made to shiver and hunger just watching Anna's tongue trace the rim of her wineglass. Anna pushed her up against walls, smearing dark lipstick and peppering stinging bites down her neck, while Sam rode her fingers. She spent nights laid out on Anna's bed, Anna's fingers deep in her and tongue firm on her clit, Anna holding Sam down as she bucked and cried. She drowned herself in the taste of Anna's cunt and almost felt no need for air. Anna was enough.

So she could be forgiven for taking awhile to notice that Anna often steered conversations to her job in Sen. Farrell's office, that the papers she brought home were slightly ruffled after Anna left, that Anna sometimes seemed to be encouraging her in directions that could be considered slightly treasonous. But she couldn't say she was completely shocked when Sydney Bristow approached her and told her that Anna was a freelance spy, though the assassin part was a bit of a shock. 

She also learned how good of an actress she could be, how she could close her eyes and kiss Anna's faithless, lying mouth, how she could plant fake papers and pretend they hadn't been moved. She wasn't quite good enough, since Anna must have noticed something off and was in the wind before Sydney's team could catch her. But that was her first mission and she learned. And if sometimes in the future on her sexpionage missions she wore her lipstick dark and flirted with her wineglass then it was a bittersweet reminder of her first lessons in spying and love.


End file.
